


Erudition Part 2

by wargoddess



Series: The Templar Canticles [5]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Flashback, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen *said* he wanted more from Carver.  When he dithers, Carver gets cranky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erudition Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> A flashback, so to speak, set about two weeks after "Transfigurations" and several months before "Trials". Oh, and this only counts as "first time" if you don't count all those blow- and hand-jobs they exchanged before.

     "Ser," said the knight who'd come up to Cullen as he walked through the Gallows gate, "could you, ah, talk to the Knight Captain?"

     It was the last thing Cullen either expected or wanted to hear upon returning to the Gallows -- certainly not after a day of sparring with Bran about lyrium suppliers.  Bran had been in a testy mood, which made him more razor-tongued than usual, and by the time he'd left Cullen had been about two breaths away from reminding the man in the strongest possible terms that his survival as Viscount was dependent on the Templars' support.  He had not, however, because his own sanity was dependent on Bran's survival as Viscount; otherwise all the problems of managing the city would fall into his own lap.  Which Bran doubtless knew.  Which meant that Cullen was not in the most pleasant of moods himself. 

     And now this.  Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a deep breath for patience.

     "What, pray tell, should I talk about, Ser Franca?"

     "Sorry to bother you with this, ser."  She trotted to keep up with him as he strode up the steps of the administrative wing, stammering a bit between the exertion and, he supposed, nerves.  He had no idea why; Franca had been knighted several years before and was hardly the easily-intimidated sort, like most female Templars.  So he braced himself, in case what she wanted to discuss was something... awkward.  "It's just -- well, the Knight Captain is just very --  That is to say -- "

     Cullen had been discreet, he knew, in his courtship of Carver Hawke.  That was difficult enough in a place like the Gallows, where thanks to the use of magic it was possible for the walls to have literal ears, and where the younger Templars in particular seemed to occupy their free time with little else but relentless rumormongering.  Still, he had taken great care to confine his more... _personal_ interactions with Carver to private settings and times when they were unlikely to be disturbed.  That was no guarantee, of course; he put nothing past the recruits, who were tenacious as weasels when they smelled a really juicy bit of gossip.  But so long as any rumors regarding his relationship with his Knight Captain remained _only_ rumors, he was satisfied.

     Which had made things difficult, of late.  Though Carver had mostly recovered from the assassination attempt of a few weeks past, the demands of Cullen's schedule had left him little time to further-pursue the more intriguing recent changes in their relationship.  If he was honest with himself, he was not sure exactly _how_ to proceed.  Despite Cullen's greater martial experience and the ostensible wisdom that came with age, Carver had by far the greater expertise where it came to -- well, matters of intimacy.  And though Carver had seemed amenable enough when Cullen informed him of his desire for _more_ , there had arisen a degree of discomfort between them lately that Cullen did not quite know how to breach.

     And now Ser Franca was dithering like some wet-behind-the-ears recruit.  Cullen stopped in the shadow of the Gallows' porticullis.  "I have had a long and difficult day, Ser Franca, if you please."

     "Oh.  Sorry, ser.  It's just."  She chewed her lip.  "Well, you know the Knight Captain was cleared for duty again, and he's back on the clock proper, and we're all glad to see him shipshape, but... some of us have been talking.  And... and it seems as though the Knight Captain is... angry.  With, uh, everyone."

     Cullen lifted an eyebrow.  Perhaps he had not been indiscreet after all.  "I... see?"

     "Well, ser."  She took a deep breath and blurted, "This morning two of the apprentices slicked over the library floor with ice so they could skate on it -- "  Cullen groaned.  " -- and you could hear him shouting at them all the way up on the fifth floor, he actually threatened to make them set each other's hair on fire, it was all very... awkward.  Then he had a sparring match with Ser Bloom and... and... well, the spirit healers did say it was only a _mild_ concussion.  And Ser Margitte called him in to demonstrate a Holy Smite for the recruits she was training, and he knocked them all to the floor with it.  _Including_ Ser Margitte.  Then he told them all to 'get the Void up, Templars should be stronger than you pissants', and he did it again."

     Oh, dear.  Cullen grimaced.  "That is... concerning, I agree.  But you must understand, Ser Franca, he is only just today returned to regular duty, fresh out of sickbed -- "

     "Respectfully, ser," said Franca, and her voice shook with emotion as if she was feeling anything but respectful, "if this is him as an invalid, then we're all dead as soon as he's back at a hundred percent.  Something's _wrong_ , and you're the only one he ever listens to.  He actually _likes_ you.  Please, ser, you have to do something before someone gets hurt."  And with that she saluted quickly and hurried off.

     These sorts of troubles had never plagued _Meredith_ , as Cullen recalled.

     Shaking his head, Cullen considered Carver's schedule, then diverted toward the upper floors.  It was almost the end of the Knight Captain's shift; most likely he was in his office, finishing up the day's paperwork and attending to any matters that required more direct attention.  But as Cullen reached the appropriate floor and started down the corridor, he was surprised to see a trio of recruits standing at attention outside Carver's office, clad in nothing but their smallclothes and socks.  A small pile of clothing and armor sat at each recruit's feet.

     Cullen slowed to a halt, staring, and finally he said, "What is the meaning of this?"

     "Ser!"  The smallest of the recruits, a sharp-faced Rivaini girl who looked as though she was trying very hard not to cry, barked the reply.  Then, practically in unison, all three bent and -- nearly blurring as they moved -- put on trousers, shirt, gambeson and chain, and finally armor.  In three minutes they were buckled, and then they stood at attention again, each slightly out of breath.

     Cullen folded his arms, duly impressed, but also trying to fathom what in demons he had just seen.  "I would appreciate an explanation to accompany this... demonstration."

     "Ser!  We are to model the appropriate way to dress for morning muster to any who ask why we are standing here!  Ser!"

     "I see."

     "Ser!  Would you like us to repeat this demonstration, Knight Commander, ser?"

     "No," Cullen said quickly, and then let out a long breath.  It was after dark; all recruits should have been dismissed from duty an hour before.  At this rate they would miss dinner.  Cullen disliked doing anything to interfere with Carver's management of the Gallows, but whatever they'd done to merit this punishment, surely they had learned their lesson by now.  Well, he would talk to Carver about it.  "Er, at ease."

     They relaxed, he noted -- but they also began removing their armor again, stripping down for the next "demonstration."

     Resisting the urge to shake his head, Cullen knocked brisky on the office door and then went inside, per his usual practice.  Carver, true to form, was at his desk, working on some papers; he did not look up as Cullen came in.  "Knight Commander."

     "Good evening, Knight Captain," Cullen said, a bit puzzled.  No matter how busy Carver was, he usually offered Cullen a warmer greeting.  "Interesting display you have outside your office."

     "They won't be late to muster again."  Carver signed something, stamped it hard enough that the desk rattled, and then looked up at Cullen.  And Cullen stopped short, nearly rocking back on his heels at the utter coldness of the man's blue-eyed gaze.  Then Carver stood and came around the desk to salute, standing at attention.  "It's unusual to see you this early, ser.  Shall I give my daily report here rather than in your office?"

     _Dear Maker_ , Cullen realized, belatedly and in some shock.  _He's angry with_ me _._

     But Cullen had no idea why.  They had seen little of each other lately, certainly, but Cullen could remember nothing he had _done_ to offend the man.  He could not ask, either, since they could not exactly speak freely with three recruits standing just outside the room and doubtless listening closely for the dread Knight Captain's approach.

     At last propriety reasserted itself, so Cullen returned the salute.

     "No need," he said, hoping that he did not sound as uneasy as he felt.  "I've had a long day, and thankfully no meetings in the morning; provided that all is well for now, you may make your report then."

     "All is well," Carver said, nodding briskly.  "Rest easy, ser."

     Well, that was disconcerting.  Usually Carver made his report in Cullen's office.  And usually -- before Carver's injury, in any case -- they'd taken the time after Carver's report for, well, _private_ conversation.  Cullen had been rather looking forward to the resumption of that routine, and the possibility of expanding it.  Did this mean Carver no longer approved of that arrangement?

     Did this mean Carver no longer _wanted him_?  Cullen was not prepared for the flash of hurt triggered by this thought.

     Then he corrected himself.  If Carver was angry, it followed logically that there was reason for his anger; Cullen must have somehow given offense.  So he thought quickly, and cleared his throat, and took a deep breath.  "I thought perhaps you could join me in my quarters for dinner this evening.  We have not done that for some time."

     "Are you certain you want to do that, ser?"  Carver spoke quietly, so that his voice would not carry.  His face was granite, so little emotion did it reveal.

     Cullen blinked, utterly mystified now.  "I would not have invited you if I wasn't certain, Knight Captain."

     Carver's nostrils twitched; his jaw flexed.  For a long moment Cullen thought Carver would either start shouting, or not reply at all.  Then finally Carver said, sounding as though Cullen had sentenced him to a flogging:  "Then I shall look forward to it, ser."

     They saluted and Cullen took his leave, only realizing he'd forgotten to speak to Carver about the poor recruits when he stepped outside and saw them again.  But then Carver emerged behind him, throwing an opaque glance at Cullen as he did so; quietly he told the recruits to go home.  They did so with grateful alacrity, grabbing their armor and clothing and hurrying off still undressed.  Cullen walked off more slowly in their wake -- but he was painfully conscious of Carver standing in the hallway behind him, gaze a palpable weight on his back.

#

     Carver knocked promptly at the start of the dinner hour, which did little for Cullen's ease; he'd had only a few minutes in which to wash up and drink some tea to settle his nerves.  That he was nervous at all disturbed him, for he was unused to being so anxious with his men -- but of course, Carver was not simply another of his men.  Now that Cullen knew that the _source_ of Carver's anger was himself, it should be simple enough to ascertain the _reason_ for that anger, should it not?  Except he had no idea what he'd done to incite that anger in the first place, and that boded ill for the power of rationality to solve the problem.

     Carver had come in shirt and trou, at least, which was good as this would have been even more excruciating with either of them in armor.  As he moved past Cullen, Cullen could not help admiring him for a moment, all broad shoulders and tapered waist, coiled strength and long-legged grace.  He was as economical of pace and elegant of form here in the small room as he was on a battlefield.  It occurred to Cullen abruptly that since his attraction to Carver Hawke had begun on a battlefield, perhaps it was fitting that their relationship retained a certain _adversarial_ nature.  But... Cullen licked his lips.  Battles could be lost.

     And when Carver did not sit, instead moving to lean against a wall with his arms folded and his posture deceptively relaxed and his expression closed, Cullen realized this one had already been engaged.

     Very _well_ , then.

     So Cullen closed the door and decided to launch his opening salvo without bothering to parley.  "Thank you for coming," he said.  "Perhaps you could tell me now what's troubling you."

     And Carver -- himself not the sort to bother with skirmishes when a charge was to hand -- replied:  "If you didn't want me, why did you say that you did?"

     _What?_   "I -- "  Cullen stopped, staring at him.  Was that what he was so upset about?  "I do want you."

     "You got a funny way of showing it," Carver snapped, his face reddening with building fury.  "You avoid me, treat me like I'm still hurt -- "

     "You _are_ still hurt.  You only returned to active duty today!"

     Carver's mouth actually fell open.  "'Cause _you insisted_ that I stay inactive for the full two weeks the healers recommended!  I've been on my feet for most of that!"

     "Carver -- "  Cullen fought the urge to groan in exasperation.  Why could things like this not just be _simple_?  It made no sense.  "You were _gutted_.  You were almost permanently crippled; you could have _died_."  And Cullen would be forever grateful that he had not seen Carver at the worst of that, bloodied and cut apart; it had been bad enough seeing him after the healers had worked their magic, leaving him wan and pale and helpless, if intact.  "What kind of man would I be if I -- "  And he could not say it.  Blushing, he looked away, trying not to squirm.  "You were _bedridden_.  And the healers said you were to avoid... _strenuous activity_."

     Silence fell.  It took Cullen a full ten breaths to overcome his embarrassment enough to lift his eyes, and when he did, he found Carver gaping at him.  But as he watched, the anger faded in Carver's expression, replaced by slowly-dawning amusement.

     "Let me get this straight," Carver said.  "You've been treating me like I'm made of paper, in between tiptoeing around and making me think you weren't interested, driving me _sodding nuts_... because you secretly wanted to fuck me blind and you were afraid of _hurting_ me?"

     Cullen grimaced at the crudeness of the words, though they were in essence true.  "Well, and in the meantime, I had hoped to court you.  But I've been so busy, I must admit I've failed to do so properly.  Forgive me."

     "Court me."

     Cullen blinked.  Was he angry again?  "Yes."

     Carver glanced over at the table of Cullen's sitting room, where two trays sat.  "With dinner."

     "Well, yes."

     "What, and gifts?  _Flowers_?"

     "Of course not!"  But Cullen blushed, because he had in fact tried to think of types of flowers that might not offend Carver, before concluding that there were none.

     Carver uttered a groan of deepest exasperation and covered his eyes with his hands.  "Cullen, I've been sucking your dick for six months now.  _You blew me_ while I was still 'bedridden.'"

     Cullen winced.  "Well, yes.  But I shouldn't have.  It was purposeful, certainly, but I took advantage of you in a moment of helplessness nevertheless, and I had hoped to make up for my actions -- "

     _"Andraste's curly short-hairs_ , Cullen."

     "Carver!  Really, I must protest these vulgarities where they reference _our prophet_ \-- "

     _"You're such a fucking gentleman!"_   Carver was yelling now, his fists clenched, looking ready to actually strike blows.  "All this time I've been -- "  And to Cullen's shock, Carver blushed and twitched.  "I've been _waiting_ for you to, to show up at my door and throw me up against the nearest piece of furniture, like you said you _wanted_!  And when you didn't, I thought... Sweet sodding _shit,_ you make no sense."

     As Cullen had been thinking the same thing, he bit back hard on the urge to say so.  Instead he sighed, slumping.  "I am... not well-versed in these matters, Carver.  It did not occur to me that... well, that I should be more... to the point.  As you say; I am a gentleman."

     "Yeah, well."  Carver sighed and ran a hand over his hair.  "If it's any consolation, I haven't exactly done much of... _this_ sort of thing."  He gestured vaguely toward the trays on the table, and it took Cullen a shamefully long time to understand that he meant _courting_.  "The people I've been with didn't usually waste time trying to win me over."

     Cullen drew in a breath of affront.  "What, they simply expected to _bed_ you, as if there were nothing more to you than your body?"

     Carver threw him an odd, bemused look.  "Why the Void not?  That's what _I_ wanted."

     Cullen let out the breath, then crossed the room to him.  "Carver, I told you that _I_ wanted more.  And I meant that.  Including -- "  He shook his head, struggling for the words.  "I do not simply want _pleasure_ of you.  You are --  I find myself drawn to -- oh Andraste, why is this so difficult?"  He gripped the man's arm, trying to convey what he felt without words.  "I enjoy _your company_ , Carver.  The sound of your voice.  Your insights, your jokes, your kindness, your strength.  And what I want of you is... all of that.  _More_ of that."

     Carver was staring at him.  Had he said something wrong again?  But then, slowly, a wry smile spread across Carver's face.  "You don't like _all_ of my jokes."

     Cullen grimaced.  "Well, no.  I do wish you wouldn't blaspheme quite so much; really, Carver, we are supposed to _defend_ the faith -- "

     And then he stopped protesting Carver's blasphemous mouth, because suddenly that mouth was on his own.

     Out of pure startlement Cullen began to flinch away, but then Carver uncoiled from the wall, grabbing the back of his head with one hand and holding Cullen in place.  His mouth was soft and hot and faintly sour, but the taste of him, the eager way he pressed forward, the little sound of _want_ that he made as he did this, all went straight to Cullen's groin.  Cullen shuddered and thought that he made an answering sound and cupped his hands around Carver's face, pressing closer and delving his tongue into that soft, hot, wanting mouth.  By the time Carver started to chuckle, Cullen could hardly bring himself to pull away.  He wanted _more_.  He _always_ wanted more of Carver.  But he did pull away, because he was a gentleman.

     Carver grinned at him, running a thumb around the edge of Cullen's goatee.  "Yeah.  That's better."  And then while Cullen still stood there marveling at the overwhelming power of his own sudden lust, Carver slid a hand up his thigh and around the curve of his hip, pulling him close and pressing against him.  He was hard as dragonbone, which came as something of a relief because this close, Cullen could not hide his own aroused reaction.  Then Carver pulled away and slid a hand under the laces of Cullen's trousers, grasping him firmly and giving him a long, practiced stroke.  Cullen inhaled, and Carver leaned in close.

     "I'm _not_ a gentleman," he said, his voice low and breath hot against Cullen's cheek.  He kept stroking, and when Cullen shuddered he pressed closer, sliding his other hand under Cullen's shirt.  "I don't want dinner or flowers; I want to fuck.  I want you to take me into that bedroom, and _take me_ , 'til I come all over your pristine, neatly-made sheets.  We can have dinner after, maybe."  His voice dropped to a whisper, caressing Cullen's ear with breath alone.  "Then we can fuck again, maybe on your floor, or up against your walls."  His fingers tickled Cullen's nipple; his hand on Cullen's cock tightened.  "And then we can do it again.  And _again_."

     _Oh, Maker._   Cullen had to struggle for a moment to think coherently before he spoke.  "I... I would like that."  Carver began to pump his hand, just the way he knew Cullen liked; for an instant Cullen actually saw _stars_.

     Carver's teeth were a white flash in the candle-shadow.  "Really, now?  Even if it's not gentlemanly, what I want?"

     Carver's fingers felt like something otherworldly as they pressed and gripped and then slid down to gently massage Cullen's balls.  Carver had come from a line of mages; was there such a thing as latent magic?  Cullen would -- _oh dear sweet Andraste please if you grant me nothing else do not let this night end too quickly_ \-- have to commission their First Enchanter to study the matter. 

     "Of course," Cullen managed to say, though he was panting and his voice shook; he had gripped Carver's arms, trying not to look like he was holding on for dear life.  "Being a gentleman means... considering your partner's wishes."

     "Yeah," Carver said, his own voice a little breathless and rough.  "Right, then."  He pushed off the wall and -- still holding Cullen by his _balls_ , dear Maker -- began to back toward the bedroom.  Cullen went with him of course, staying close as logic would dictate, and as desire encouraged.  In the bedroom Carver let go of him and shucked off his shirt and pants as quickly as his poor hapless recruits had put theirs on, and far faster than Cullen, who'd fumbled his own disrobing while staring at Carver and thinking _Merciful Andraste, he's beautiful_.  Because he was, in this first glimpse that Cullen now had of his whole body unclothed: almost perfect in his conformation and surprisingly pale beneath his clothing, which made the shock of black hair at his crotch that much more stark by contrast.  When he turned to pluck something from the pocket of his pants, Cullen saw the heavy black lines of a tattoo across his left arse-cheek:  a passable rendition of a Fereldan mabari in attack stance.

     Then Carver turned and caught Cullen looking, and grinned at Cullen's blush.  "You're sodding amazing," he said, and Cullen -- who had been half covering himself, feeling a bit inadequate and shy -- blinked in surprise.  "You _want_ , and you try so hard to hide the wanting.  You're gorgeous and you don't even notice.  I love that about you."

     Cullen's face grew warm.  "I..."  And he fidgeted, unsure what to say.

     Carver laughed softly and threw back the covers on the bed, climbing into it like it was his own.  "Did you know half the damned recruits are in love with you?  I caught one hiding sketches of you under her mattress.  Did a good job, too."  He left the covers back, plainly waiting for Cullen, and Cullen climbed in with him, feeling a bit poleaxed.

     "I'm not sure that's something I _wanted_ to know," Cullen said, settling beside him and trying to relax.

     "What?  You don't like that some impressionable young thing even now might be hiding in the barracks, wanking off with thoughts of you in his head?"  Carver pressed closer, sliding arms around Cullen and nuzzling his mouth.  Cullen tried to capture a kiss, but Carver chuckled and licked him away.  "Working his cock and thinking it's your mouth.  Biting his fingers and wishing it was your skin."

     In spite of himself -- and probably precisely as Carver had wanted -- Cullen shuddered violently at the images this brought to mind.  "It's... inappropriate," he said, his voice weak.

     "Yeah, it is."  Carver took Cullen's hand and pulled it to his own crotch, nudging against Cullen's fingers in blatant suggestion.  And what manner of gentleman would Cullen be to leave him wanting?  He took hold of Carver and caressed all that marvelous hard length, and Carver sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.  "It's hot _because_ it's inappropriate, or at least that's how I felt when I was the one wanking over you."

     Cullen's hand faltered, though only for a moment.  "You?"

     Carver exhaled softly and took hold of Cullen's cock, shifting closer and moving their hands in tandem.  "Oh, yeah.  I used to... nnh, I used to dream about... you in my mouth and..."  When Cullen tickled the head of Carver's cock with a fingertip, Carver made a low, fevered sound.  " _Fuck_.  T-touching me like that."

     _Oh.  My._   How fascinating. Touching Carver was like playing a fine instrument; the slightest shift of Cullen's fingers brought forth new tones, new vibrations.  He did it again, and when Carver groaned obediently, Cullen leaned eagerly in and delved deep into Carver's mouth, suddenly wanting to be closer, to be everywhere.  All at once Carver nudged his hand aside and circled them both, stroking them together, which made Cullen lose the kiss.  "Maker give me _strength_ , Carver, that is marvelous."

     "You think?"  Carver reached for the thing he'd taken from his pants, which he'd laid on the pillow above his head.  It turned out to be a small ceramic flask, whose stopper he yanked with his teeth; then he disappeared it beneath the covers, and a moment later his hand resumed its stroke, this time _wet_ and slick and so intense in sensation that Cullen went rigid.  Carver chuckled and spat the stopper aside.  "Better?"

     Cullen could not speak, though he managed to nod.  Carver chuckled and shifted again, tangling their legs together and lifting Cullen's thigh while his hand kept working.  His other hand was wet too as it slid over Cullen's hip and around, and --

     Startled when Carver's fingers brushed _there_ , Cullen jerked a little.  "Shh," Carver murmured, his mouth brushing Cullen's shoulder.  "Just wanna show you something.  Relax."

     So Cullen did, because Carver's other hand kept doing such marvelous things on his cock, and when that sensation was joined by the strange shivery feeling of having his nether entrance circled and gently pressed, he could not help groaning a bit.  It felt far better than he'd expected.  And when that circling finger slid slowly within him -- it was not uncomfortable, just very strange -- he found himself panting softly, his hands clutching at Carver's flanks.  Then Cullen felt Carver's arm flex, and he did _something marvelous_ inside Cullen's body, and Cullen _yelped_.

     "Good?"  Carver's voice was breathy with amusement.  "Yeah, you like that."  He did it again, massaging steadily now, and Cullen made a sound that he refused to admit was a whimper.  Demons of the Fade, what _was_ that?  It felt like... he had no words for it.  But it made him shudder and cling to Carver and grow boneless even as his cock throbbed hard in warning.

     "C-Carver, please, I can't -- " he blurted, and Carver stopped immediately.

     "Yeah, we'll work up to that another time," Carver said cryptically, his own voice a little shaky.  Then he was grabbing one of the pillows, rolling onto his belly and stuffing it under him to raise his own hips in the most ignominious way.  "C'mon, you try."  He handed the little flask to Cullen.

     "I -- "  Cullen sat up, swallowing.  He remembered seeing Carver do this with prostitutes at the Blooming Rose, and the thought made him shudder; he'd had dreams, since, of being the one to make Carver writhe like that.  Still, he felt his own inexperience keenly, even as he ran his fingers over Carver's mabari.  "Are you certain?  I don't want to hurt you."

     Carver chuckled into the pillow that he'd pulled under his arms; he was relaxed and sleek and so utterly comfortable in his debauchery that Cullen's mouth watered.  "Felt good when I did it to you, right?  Just try a finger."  He reached back and stroked Cullen's leg.

     So Cullen wet his fingers with the bottle, which proved to contain some kind of oil that smelled faintly of cloves.  When he first grazed along Carver's cleft, Carver let out a little breath and lifted his hips, utterly shameless -- and so undeniably eager that Cullen felt a hungry twinge in his own groin.  So he licked his lips and straddled Carver's legs and stroked the smooth firmness of his untattooed cheek with one hand, and then carefully repeated on Carver what Carver had done to him.  When he slid the first finger in, Carver purred a little.  "Yeah.  Another."

     "Are you -- "

     "Sodding _another_ , Cullen, I'm not a virgin, for fuck's sake."

     So with this dubious encouragement, Cullen worked in another finger, and when Carver shifted and sighed in obvious enjoyment, a third.  But that was not the sound that Cullen himself had made, was it?  Perhaps there was some trick to it -- ah, yes, now he recalled that Carver had seemed to search at first, and there had been a particular _angle_ involved --

     When Carver suddenly sucked in a breath and half-reared up off the bed, Cullen grinned.  Yes, that was more like it.

     "Fuck."  Carver pushed hard back against him, trembling a little.  _"Me."_

     And what sort of gentleman would Cullen be if he did not consider his partner's wishes?

     So he positioned himself in a way that made sense, and eased himself in -- and then he stopped, breathless, because it was _not at all_ like being inside a woman and _holy Maker_ he was suddenly two breaths from losing control entirely.  How did any man endure this? 

     The same way one did when making love with any desirable partner, he supposed.  So he took deep breaths to try and master himself, and muttered a line of the Chant to focus his thoughts --

     "Cullen."

     He swallowed, then managed to speak around the loud pounding of his own heart.  "Yes?"

     Carver's voice shook.  " _I will kill you_ if you don't _move_."

     It made no sense at all for _a death threat_ to be so arousing.  Oh, he was too close.  "I'm sorry.  It is only..."  Cullen leaned down, pressing his face into the back of Carver's neck, trembling a little and trying to control his breathing.  He thrust once, slowly, and they both shuddered.  " -- _Maker!_   I only, I do not want to, to."  He was babbling, demons, but it _felt so good_ to move that he thrust again, and then again.  "Hnh, Carver, I would not disappoint you, only... you feel _wondrous_..."

     Carver laughed softly, but there was that waver in his voice again.  "Yeah."  He fumbled for Cullen's clenched fist and wrapped his fingers around it tight.  His other hand, though, was out of sight beneath him, the muscles in his arm flexing steadily in time with Cullen's quickening movements.  "Just a little more.  Just -- shit, I need this, Cullen, I need you, it's perfect, _please_ just -- " 

     He put his face into the pillow and groaned, and the sound sliced through Cullen like a blade, and he thought, _I want him so much_ , and that was the end of coherent thought.  The next few minutes, though they felt like forever, were a welter of slickness and sweat and tight sweet heat, and the smooth softness of skin against his palms with hard muscle quivering underneath, and messy wet noises, and deep desperate groans that vibrated through the man beneath him and through their connection into him.  As Cullen's body drew tight as a bow he thought that he cried out, helpless, iminent, but it was Carver's hoarse shouts -- poorly-muffled by the pillow -- that finally broke him.  His mind simply stopped.  Spluttered, like a candle in a windy room.  Then finally resumed, steady but weak, as he collapsed onto Carver's back and struggled to draw breath enough that he did not faint.

     Beneath him, Carver moaned, weakly.  "Fuck.  I."  Cullen's ear was pressed against his back; he heard Carver swallow.  "Oh, _fuck_."

     "Yes," breathed Cullen, because sometimes certain words were _entirely_ appropriate.

#

     They ate dinner naked, sprawling half-sensible in Cullen's chairs and speaking little in between bites, mostly because it was too hard to muster words for awhile.  Toward the end of the meal, however, Carver began watching Cullen in a decidedly predatory way, and when Cullen had cleared the table he turned back to find Carver casually sitting where the dishes had been, one leg up on the chair and cock hardening invitingly in his hand.  And Cullen decided that perhaps his appetite was not _quite_ sated.

     And when the devouring was done Carver pulled him up, and after Cullen fucked him on the creaking wooden table they went to bed, and in the morning Carver teased him awake with gentle fingers in his arse, and there in the predawn darkness it was Cullen's turn to come apart by degrees as Carver "worked up to it."

     It was not a rest day for either of them, alas, so finally Carver took his leave to go and prepare for duty, and Cullen dragged himself through his morning toilette.  Not even an ice cold bath really woke him, so once he'd reported to his office he requested a strong cup of coffee with his breakfast and then spent the next few hours staring at documents without reading a single line.

     By noon he was more functional, so he went for a walk through the Gallows as was his wont on days when he did not need to leave for business in the city.  He caught a glimpse of Carver, who was clearly possessed of unholy reserves of energy, demonstrating some sort of overhand strike to a watching class of recruits.  He moved on quickly before Carver could see him, simply because he did not trust his own ability to look at the man without warmth glowing like a lighthouse beacon from his face.

     But a call from behind made him turn, and he blinked in surprise to see Ser Franca trotting up, a huge smile on her face.

     "Oh, ser," she said, breathlessly.  "Everyone's talking about it.  The Knight Captain's back to his old self, and we're all breathing a sigh of relief.  I just wanted to tell you, from all of us -- thank you."

     "Er," said Cullen.  "You're welcome."

     "And whatever you said or did, _please_ keep doing it.  For the sake of the Gallows."  With a grateful smile and salute, Franca trotted back to her duties.

     Cullen resumed his walk, and so muddy were his thoughts that Franca's words did not sink in until he was back in his office.  Then he laughed himself nearly to tears. 

     "Very well, Ser Franca," he murmured to himself, dabbing at his eyes and waiting for the stitch in his side to fade.  "I suppose I _can_ do my duty for Maker and Marches."

     Then he sat back in his chair to await the evening and his Knight Captain's report, and in the meantime he considered all the many creative ways in which such an important duty might be accomplished.  For he would let it never be said that he was not a _diligent_ man.

**Author's Note:**

> My need for stress relief continues; thus yet and still more porn. Since I'm running out of Canticles, I'll be lumping any future PWPs together under the "Erudition" title. I justify this by the fact that porn usually involves these guys learning something about each other, even if it's only how to put someone's XXX in someone else's XXXX.


End file.
